


Some Plots Were Reserved From The Beginning of Time, Some Feel a Little Bit Older

by Lancelot_of_the_revolution



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Mutual Pining, The title is from ReceiverDemo by the narcissist cookbook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancelot_of_the_revolution/pseuds/Lancelot_of_the_revolution
Summary: Six thousand years ago Aziraphale met Crowley in the garden of Eden and he's been falling deeper and deeper in love since that day.(A one shot of Azi pining because I think love-struck Azi is severely underrepresented)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Some Plots Were Reserved From The Beginning of Time, Some Feel a Little Bit Older

"Do you remember the French revolution?" Aziraphale asked, looking up from his book. 

"I try not to," Crowley shrugged. He was still a tad fuzzy on the details, but there seemed to have been a big fuss about bread and who had it and an even bigger fuss about heads and who had them and the whole thing, he'd long ago decided, was best resigned to history textbooks and fudged reports to head office. 

"Any of it?" 

Crowley paused, "Well… there was that time you nearly got yourself killed. But other than that it's not high on my list of cherished memories, no."

Right, Aziraphale thought, the time I nearly got myself killed. Discorporated. Either way, that time I was in danger and you saved me. 

Crowley was fiddling with something or other on his phone, and Aziraphale was watching him solving his funny little puzzle games while Crowley thought Aziraphale was reading Much Ado About Nothing. 

_ I could have kissed you right then _ , Aziraphale thought,  _ I almost did.  _

Two hundred years ago Crowley saved Aziraphale's ass in a Bastille prison cell. It was cold and dark and a set of trousers that Aziraphale had kept in pristine condition for thirty years was getting ruined by the world's most uncomfortable bench and  _ good lord above can't a man shaped being just get some Crêpes without losing his head?  _ And Aziraphale was thinking, vaguely, about the metaphorical resonance of revolutionaries killing an angel of the Lord and what a political cartoon this scene would make when Crowley arrived. 

And it took him two hundred years to admit it to himself but Aziraphale knew damn well that Crowley showing up just in the nick of time was exactly what he was hoping for. Upstairs would have understood this miracle, they hate issuing new bodies just as much as everyone hates receiving them-- paperwork goes both ways. But miracling one's troubles away is not nearly as fun as having a handsome demon do the miracling for you. 

Aziraphale wasn't listening all that much when Crowley started talking, as ashamed as he'd be to admit it. He was thinking about a Poem. Specifically _Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart_ , the story in which Lancelot rescues the lady Guinevere from the tower and-- right, he should probably start listening to Crowley now, actually. 

"You were lucky I was in the area." Crowley isn't Lancelot. 

"I suppose I am. Why are you here?" Aziraphale isn't Guinevere

"My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance. So I thought I should find out what they were commending me for.” France isn't Camelot and even if it was Lancelot and Guinevere don't have a happy ending. Forbidden loves never do. 

Still, in the privacy of Aziraphale's own thoughts, Crowley had made a pretty good knight back in the day. 

Right Now Aziraphale was staring at the top of Crowley's head as he was bent over his phone and thinking about what a shame it was that Crowley's Knights armor had so rudely hid his lovely red hair when Crowley looked up. 

"Have you something to say, angel?" 

"Hm?" Aziraphale was thinking about the next part of that Lancelot and Guinevere story again. 

"You look like you want to say something is all. What's up?" 

Aziraphale shook his head, "Nothing, nothing, my mind was just wondering is all. Sorry to concern you."

Crowley hesitantly went back to his phone, Aziraphale went back to pretending to read. 

1,482 years ago Crowley was a knight and truth be told shining armor was never really flattering for anyone but that didn't keep the same red headed demon from popping into Aziraphale's mind when one of his books described a dashing knight sweeping a lady off her feet. And Crowley was certainly one for sweeping Aziraphale off his feet. Or, for that matter, saving him from harm. 

78 years ago Aziraphale had done an exceptionally poor job at tricking a group of Nazis and Crowley had been there to save him once again. 

It had been years since Crowley and Aziraphale had last seen each other and there Crowley was, in a church of all places, once more arriving in the nick of time. It took Aziraphale till the bombs dropped to get over the shock of "we're still friends, he doesn't hate me" and then once the church had fallen he had a different shock to process. 

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?”

Aziraphale stood still, watching Crowley walk away and coming to perhaps the biggest realization of his life. This wasn't being awkwardly attracted to your best friend. This wasn't a little crush, or an affectionate friendship, or feelings that could be ignored. This was love. Head spinning, heart stopping, life changing love. And Aziraphale absolutely positively could not ignore it for one more second. 

It had probably been love the whole time. At the very least for a few thousand years. But feelings were easy to ignore when you knew they couldn't possibly lead anywhere. It wasn't that difficult to pretend that you didn't really feel a certain way, and to make yourself believe it if you pretended long enough. But it never lasts forever, and one day the person you love does something that reminds you exactly how you feel in a way you can't possibly ignore any longer, and that's what Crowley had just done. 

It wasn't really the saving of the books, though. It was the kindness of the action. But it wasn't even just that. It was kindness when the last time they'd seen each other had been so terrible, it was almost a promise that even if they had their rough patches Crowley would always be there for Aziraphale. At the end of the day, though, it was really just Crowley being Crowley-- kind without thinking about it and just a bit cocky. 

418 years ago Crowley showed his funny brand of kindness toward Aziraphale by turning Hamlet into a success. It was always a terrific play, of course, the bard needed no help in being a talented playwright, but terrific works of art are more often forgotten than remembered. But then Crowley, on Aziraphale’s request, got it noticed. He got it remembered. Just because Aziraphale had asked him to. And then he went above and beyond and made it one of the most famous plays ever written. Aziraphale-in-the-right-now made a mental note to see if any productions of Hamlet were on nearby any time soon-- perhaps it was time he and Crowley saw it again. 

There was, of course, the convent-turned-conference-and-management-training-center to point to as another example of Crowley’s funny brand of kindness, but that line of thought took Aziraphale away from selfless acts and toward what happened when Aziraphale had pointed them out. Crowley grabbing him by the lapels and pushing him against a wall  _ as if you’d ever hurt me, really, we both know you’re bluffing on that one  _ and their faces centimeters apart and Aziraphale once again not really listening to what Crowley was saying because he was far too distracted just watching his lips and  _ that damn Mary Hodges _

Crowley Right Now, for his part, was still fiddling away on his phone. It was quite entertaining to watch, Aziraphale had decided, the way his face changed when he was focusing. He stuck just the tip of his tongue out past his lips and scrunched his eyebrows together. Aziraphale could tell when Crowley had passed a challenge because of the way his face lit up, how he smiled and inaudibly whispered "yesss!" to himself every time. It didn't take a trip down memory lane to remind Aziraphale how much he loved his demon, all it took was a glance in his general direction. 

It was easier to stay in the moment, too. Memories weren't always good. In 6000 years there were more than enough opportunities for things to turn sour. 

157 years ago Crowley asked for holy water and Aziraphale refused because he was terrified of losing his best friend. 

52 years ago Aziraphale gave in and gave Crowley the holy water anyway because he'd never been very good at saying no to Crowley. 

  
  


One week ago Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away with him and Aziraphale refused, not because he didn't want to but because he knew he couldn't. He'd stood on a street corner and watched the demon he loved speed away and thought,  _ I could go, I could spend the rest of eternity with him and let this whole world rot, no one would even notice me being gone.  _ He knew not a word of that was true, and so did Crowley on some level. They'd be caught and whatever Heaven and Hell would do to them then would be a thousand times worse than hell fire and holy water. And whatever Aziraphale felt for Crowley, no matter how high a priority he was, there was no denying that Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to live with himself if the earth he loved was destroyed while he stood idly by. Neither would Crowley.

At that moment, it felt like an ending. He'd be a fool not to realize his feelings had been requited at first, everything Crowley did screamed of his own affections. He just couldn't do anything about it, neither of them could. They knew what was at stake. But despite their seeming mutual understanding, Aziraphale had turned Crowley away for the third time now-- once in the Bently, in 67, once in the gazebo, and once just then, on the street corner. How the hell was he supposed to turn back around from this? He'd given Crowley every reason to give up on him. Crowley still seemed to care about him, and obviously loved him, Aziraphale could feel it even now, but Aziraphale didn't know what sort of love it was that Crowley was radiating. Romantic or platonic, all love reads the same on his radar. And while Crowley still very obviously valued Aziraphale as a friend, nothing had changed since the apocalypse that wasn't. Crowley hadn’t made any moves to indicate a desire to change the nature of their relationship.

One week ago Crowley and Aziraphale weren't quite competent enough to stop the apocalypse but it got stopped anyway and now neither of them were dealing with any overhead telling what to do or how to do it. One week ago Crowley and Aziraphale took each other's places on death row and maybe Aziraphale was too cocky and maybe Crowley was too confident but that's okay because it's always easier to see the best in the people you love. One week ago Crowley and Aziraphale became free, really and truly free. And yet, nothing much changed.

So they were free. At least for right now. And Crowley had feelings for Aziraphale. At least he seemed to before. And Aziraphale was head over heels in love with Crowley. That bit had no caveat, no qualifier, it was the rare truth that was both pure and simple. Aziraphale loved Crowley. 

And, he supposed, he could do something about it now. No overhead (at the moment). Reciprocated feelings (once upon a time). He could look up from his long forgotten book and say, "Crowley, you should know I've been in love with you since the day we met,” or perhaps something more eloquent and see where the conversation leads. He could reach over and grab Crowley by the lapels, the same way Crowley had grabbed him at the former convent, and pull Crowley towards him, into the sort of kiss he's always read about, taste the shock on his lips and leave talking for later. 

He could say nothing. 

He could say nothing because saying nothing is safe, because saying nothing doesn't put anyone at risk, because saying nothing doesn't give anyone the opportunity to say "No, you had your chance to say something a million times over and perhaps then I would have said yes but I couldn't take waiting for you and I got over you a long time ago and those feelings are never ever coming back." Or, “You’ve misread every signal you think I sent, you’ve only ever been my friend and my colleague and I could never see you as anything different”. Because saying nothing doesn't gain anything but it doesn't lose anything either and after coming so close to losing everything, well, Aziraphale had never been one for taking risks in the first place.

"Angel, you're staring again."

Shoot.

Crowley sat his phone on the table and moved to sit next to Aziraphale, "Something has got to be bothering you," he said, a statement not a question, "tell me what's wrong."

Crowley wasn't wearing his sunglasses, and Aziraphale could see the concern in his eyes. He looked positively  _ soft,  _ ready to do anything in his power to comfort Aziraphale no matter what was bothering him.

It wasn't some grand miracle like saving his books or freeing him from a cell, it wasn't a bold offer to escape into the stars, it was just a look. It was a promise. It was the assurance that if something was wrong Crowley would be there, no matter what. And that's what love feels like, isn’t it? An offer to help. 

There wasn't any way around this. There wasn't any hiding his feelings anymore. Saying nothing wasn’t an option at this point because holding back this much starts to physically hurt after a little while.

Aziraphale took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Holding back hurts too much to consider but speaking up is still a terrifying endeavor.

"Crowley, I'm in love with you."

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat that Aziraphale couldn't put into letters if he tried. Somewhere between a growl and a squeak was probably the best description. 

"Oh no, I've said something wrong--" 

Crowley held up one finger and blinked, his expression like his head was trying to process a blue ray disk on a windows 1.0 computer. Finally, he opened his mouth and said, "... You're  _ what?!"  _

"I’m in love with you? Oh, I do hope that's alright--" 

"Alright?! Angel!" Crowley laughed as if he wasn't certain where reality was, "Of course it's alright! What do you-- yes! Yes this is fantastic!" 

Crowley was grinning, absolutely ecstatic, bouncing slightly in his seat as he was rambling because he suddenly had so much energy and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. 

"I suppose the feeling is mutual, then?" 

"Yes!! Yes you idiot! My Someone, can't you sense love? Didn't you know?!" 

"Of course I knew you loved me, I just didn't know how. Romantic or platonic, they feel the same…" 

Crowley opened his mouth like he had an argument, but immediately changed his mind. He opened his mouth once more to say, "we can talk about that later, can't we. Right now I'd like to stay on topic."

"And what topic is that?" 

Crowley lit up even brighter and made a sort of overarching gesture between the two of them by way of answering. There was a tug at Aziraphale's chest as he was reminded of how unbearably fond he was of Crowley. His animated, almost spring powered movement struck Aziraphale as absolutely adorable in a way a demon had no right to be. 

Aziraphale gave a mischievous smile as he set aside his book, "right, of course, I'm certain there's loads to discuss about the state of our relationship now that this information is on the table. Or…"

"... or?" 

"Or we could discuss all that later and you could just get over here and kiss me?" 

Kissing Crowley wasn't exactly like Aziraphale had imagined it would be, at least not at first. It was a tad awkward in the moments it took to figure out how everything fit, teeth scraping and noses hitting each other when they most definitely should be doing no such thing. But eventually they got it and Crowley was kissing him, really kissing him, holding Aziraphale's face in his hands and kissing like he needed it to survive. Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer and closer until Crowley was straddling his lap. Aziraphale took the opportunity and better angle to start kissing down Crowley's throat, admiring the way Crowley leaned into him when he did so. 

There was a lot to admire about Crowley. Aziraphale could be considered an expert in Crowley admiring, in all honesty, as he'd been doing it for a good six thousand years. But really, he was just getting started. 

**Author's Note:**

> The King Arthur story Azi keeps bringing up is the one where Lance and Gwen consummate their affair, if anyone was wondering


End file.
